


the carpenter's view

by thesisean (orphan_account)



Series: the change and comfort we all seek [1]
Category: Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Angst, Carpenter Dream, Flashbacks, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Idk its shoddily put together, angst just because i like it, damn they know how to annoy george even when theyre dead, ghost au but in the dteam only george is alive, im going to fall asleep on the computer, life after death, sapnap died prior, theyre all tired and need comfort, why dont they get comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-12
Updated: 2020-10-14
Packaged: 2021-03-07 17:34:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,813
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26971489
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/thesisean
Summary: he doesn’t quite know how to deal with grief. someone who he’d known since a mere child, by the miraculous invention known as the internet. it was just a stupid minecraft game, but the other asked for a skype call. it didn’t end all that well, considering he’d blocked him after a series of unfortunate misunderstandings.(he wants the time back, yearns for the joy he felt as a child.)dream drives the car in a heavy storm, not really caring about his safety.
Relationships: Clay | Dream & GeorgeNotFound & Sapnap (Video Blogging RPF), Clay | Dream & GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF), Clay | Dream & Sapnap (Video Blogging RPF)
Series: the change and comfort we all seek [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1968274
Comments: 11
Kudos: 119





	1. where do i go? (now that he's gone)

**Author's Note:**

> i cant be bothered to beta read this i suck at writing

the leather seat of his car is awfully cold. 

probably because it’s currently raining really really badly outside. the rain smashes to the ground in a constant loud drone, and he twists the car keys in his calloused hands, results from his nightly tinkerings. 

(maybe he should stop.) 

he feels cut off, gaspingly cold, lonely even, in the harsh darkness of the rainy night. he grasps at strings, trying not to get sucked in by the black hole that decided that day to appear. it’s the loneliness that always gets to him, the fear of even touching it sending him running, the way he has to cower to george for comfort. 

(george doesn’t know how to deal with him.) 

he doesn’t quite know how to deal with grief. someone who he’d known since a mere child, by the miraculous invention known as the internet. it was just a stupid minecraft game, but the other asked for a skype call. it didn’t end all that well, considering he’d blocked him after a series of unfortunate misunderstandings. 

(he wants the time back, yearns for the joy he felt as a child.)

look at them less than ten years later. he has to smile grimly. one six feet under and the other who’s lost his gps in the navigation of his own life. 

he starts up the engine. the car trembles and shakes with the effort. it’s a miracle that it’s not given up on him yet. 

  
-  
 _“what’s that?” the other says, a bright smile that follows the energetic words, ends of the cloth wrapped around the circumference of the boy’s head soaring as a bubbling laugh accompanies the sentence right after._

_he’s younger, probably fourteen, scratching at the dirt with a stick before the metal steps of his house._

_“drawing.” dream explains proudly, spinning near perfect circles onto the loose dirt, watching the soil part perfectly when it meets the point of the stick. things bugs him if they aren’t done properly._

_“you’re so bad at drawing,” sap tells him, prodding rudely at the shapes, smudging clear lines. dream bats his hand away like a fly, scowling. “it’s abstract art.”_

_“whatever you say.” the younger shifts and leans on him, taking a place on the warm aluminium of the portable porch steps. the sun bears down on them, a scorching warmth on his pale skin._

_“what would you do if someone you loved died?” sap asks suddenly to the sky, and dream pauses the comforting repetitive drag of his stick over the bumps of dirt and stone._

_“i dunno,” dream frowns, questioning the sudden vibe change of the atmosphere, “i never really thought about it.”_

_sap gives him a half-lidded smile. “i would be really sad, actually. don’t really know how to deal with it though.”_

_dream tracks the movements of the tanner lankier boy with auburn hair. he supposes so. “i’d rather not think about that.”_

_“no one wants to think about it.” sap tilts his head in a matter-of-fact way, bringing a hand up to a disobedient strand of hair that ghosts his forehead teasingly. the sunlight spins his locks into gold, and he glances towards dream with eyes pools of honey. “it’s going to happen anyway. someone you care about dying.”_

_“why are you getting so philosophical?” dream teases, shoving his shoulder lightly, taking the darker atmosphere for a respite. “you’re literally thirteen.”_

_sapnap shrugs. “i like to think sometimes.”_

_“keyword is ‘sometimes’.”_

_“shut up, dream bitch.” he pushes dream’s head away as he laughs._

_“rude,” dream refutes, flicking the shorter boy’s forehead._

_“that was unnecessary.” sapnap grumbles, bringing hand to his forehead._

_“you were being an ass."_

_“i’m always an ass. you still like me.”_

_“shut up.”_  
-

  
he needs to go to george’s house. 

he drives out the garage and up the empty road, the blanket of rain translucent enough to block him from seeing much ahead. it’s dangerous trying to drive in this weather. he finds that he doesn’t care. 

-

the phone propped in the pocket of the car’s door buzzes with a message from Wilbur. He’ll get to it later, when he’s escaped from the hole buried hilt-deep into the depths of his upper chest, the weight that makes his breathing go all funny and to blink back tears that spring up as sudden as it had happened. He appreciates Wil for caring, though. they’d always had a mock love-hate relationship. it’s always nice to see that he and tommy and the others care, even if he wasn’t the closest to them. he misses roleplaying with them on the smp. he doesn’t quite know when or whether he’d ever be going back on, knowing that one of the original founders of the smp isn’t a steady presence any longer. 

he grips the wheel harder, feels the smooth leather give way for the ferocity of his curling fingers. he’s not strong like they think he is. he’s probably the most emotional among his friend group, actually. cried for hours when he had to put down his cat. 

the car jerks. he feels adrenaline soar through his body, slamming the breaks in a reflex movement, feeling the car skid and slide before stopping. he breathes. then he cries. he sobs and wrecks his body with trembles as he rocks slightly, clinging onto the wheel like a lifeline, dropping his body below the height of the wheel. it’s so fucking unfair, a boy nearly nineteen, a boy whose life was paved ahead and promising for the world to see, a boy whose laughter filled a room and smiles that stunned the strongest of men. it’s not fair. it’s not fair it’s him who’s the one who goes, not himself, the man who builds desperately for a bare living, or even george, or bad, or anyone. 

he hates it. hates feeling everything crash onto him. hates feeling even worse than the time he found out his girlfriend used him to see another man who wasn’t even half as good as him. he at least had the younger there, awkward but comforting, rubbing circles into his shaking palms. but he’s not here anymore. he’s dead. his eyes blur with the hard truth.

the phone rings, low and small, like it knows that it’s intruding on a full-on breakdown. he fumbles for it, swipes the accept button vaguely, presses it firmly to his ear. tears drip down the bridge of his nose.

“george.” dream chokes out, straining his voice. 

a hesitation. george hears the hitch in his voice. “where are you now?” careful, polished syllables, never giving whatever he feels away. dream wishes he could do the same, lock the emotions where they should be in the chest of his heart.

he shuts his eyes, wills everything to go away. “expressway. should-should be there in five.” he hates how pathetic he sounds. george doesn’t know how to deal with emotions (like he did). he can’t impose himself onto george like this right now.

he almost sees george frown slightly, sees the fingers on the other’s phone tense lightly, then he hears, “okay. see you. i guess.”

dream doesn’t say it back, hangs up, throws the phone back with the haze of tears. 

he sits in the car for a long time. the rain grows bigger, a faint roaring in his ears.

he wishes he were dead. 

then he jerks forward when there’s a huge impact to the back, hits his forehead on the front glass, feels the glass crack and smash into smithereens in front of his face.

there’s only rain and more rain and the hurried yells and horror of a woman barely heard in the rush of rain, and the discord call that rings and rings with no answer, the sound a haunting echo in the empty void of the night.

he gets his wish. 

the leather seat’s still cold.

the ghost of a feather light touch forgotten.


	2. have we got the courage to save ourselves?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _there’s a holographic image that glitches every second slightly, a dark hood, green eyes that peek with warmth under the soft shadow. the glasses perch on his nose’s bridge._
> 
> _dream exhales, rubs his wrist, impossibly tired with no cause. “bad.”_
> 
> _bad shifts in the hologram, brings a hand up to his chin. “how’re you doing?”_
> 
> dream enters too many dreams. ironic.  
> he also finds sap again. finds out he's a ghost.

he strays from the clear line between dreams and reality. 

the line’s blurred, broken, despite how hard he tries to cling onto the shreds of awareness. sometimes he thinks he sees the heterochromia eyes, the odd googles that frame the small face, the furrow that perches between the eyebrows. sometimes he’s back to a kid, childish and believing everything promised to his young heart. 

he’s in a futuristic sort of spaceship, the thick glass transparent and cool beneath the pads of his fingertips. space presents itself in front of him, the stars glowing far away, like if he reaches enough he’ll brush the surface of the stars. the control panel is decked with buttons too complicated to comprehend. 

“dream,” he hears, and he turns purely on instinct, tilting his head. 

there’s a holographic image that glitches every second slightly, a dark hood, green eyes that peek with warmth under the soft shadow. the glasses perch on his nose’s bridge. 

dream exhales, rubs his wrist, impossibly tired with no cause. “bad.”

bad shifts in the hologram, brings a hand up to his chin. “how’re you doing?”

“not swell.” his throat feels dry. he wonders when he last drunk water.

(before he died)

“kinda gives among us vibes, don’t you think? you loved interrogating the muffin out of everyone. do you miss that?” bad’s voice crackles, as unstable as the flickering of his image. 

dream doesn’t answer, choosing instead to swipe his thumb against the clear glass, leaning his forehead against the coolness. the infinite space spreads itself for him to see, to speak to. 

(to drown in)

“maybe.”

“I miss you,” bad says, after a short pause.

“you’re not real.” dream doesn’t turn. 

“i still miss you. you know it’s true, dream. i miss talking to you. i miss our serious talks. i miss when i could just help you with your emotions.”

dream’s eyes flutter shut. his splayed palm tenses on the glass.

“you’re a special muffin, dream.”

“i’m dead. i’ve died.” the words slip out, barely a whisper. his voice feels hoarse. it shouldn’t be hoarse. not when he’s dead.

“that doesn’t change what i’ve said.” bad says quietly.

the hologram blips out with a soft whizz behind him. the world goes white.

-

_“dream? dream!” a soft gasp, a creak of an old chair. he barely feels himself sit up, barely feels the small hand support his side, push his head against a body that radiates warmth. his subconsciousness grips cotton, a blind panic._

_a machine beeps fast, too fast, beside him. white streaks his vision._

_“is this another dream? i’m half tired of dreams,” dream murmurs against the material._

_“no, no, dream-“ the voice hits a hitch, a sob pulled from somewhere above him._

_clothes rustle aggressively all around and leathered shoes twist on the polished floor._

_“move! quick!” the warmth lets go of him suddenly, and the cold sets in again, sending him spiralling and dragging him into the void._

_“please don’t give up, dream.” the desperate voice chokes. he’s too far gone to answer._

-

the floor seems to be made of clouds. they dip only slightly beneath his slender feet, too solid and strong to just be made of water vapour. he’s wearing strapped boots, the shoes tailored to snugly fit the shape of his feet. a loose plain white shirt hangs off his frame. 

he feels the vaguest sense of uneasiness. 

the skies are blotted with reds and pinks in the rays of the setting sun. the air is really fresh, too, and he sucks in a small breath just to exhale quietly. his wrists shake lightly as he shivers in the cold, stumbling aimlessly. he assumes he has to go somewhere. he just doesn’t know where.

the way the land is familiar, colours synonymous with a bright smile on a rainy day, in the strangest way possible, he feels safe, despite the freezing temperatures and the way he’s absolutely sapped of energy. 

he’s really cold. he’s getting colder. the way his fingers quiver even more as he treks across endless plains of oddly solid clouds.

there’s a figure. his arms wrapped around his body, he spots it through half-lidded eyes. it’s as though the cold doesn’t affect the entity at all. they stand tall, auburn (is it auburn?) hair that dances in the wind. a knot at the back of their head of a white bandana. 

a familiar white bandana.

he struggles towards the figure.

from the corner of his vision he sees the figure turn, the person—the man’s lips falling apart slightly, the arch of his prominent eyebrows parting further just so, the pair pools of honey still golden in the backdrop of orange and magenta. 

dream collapses into sap’s arms, dragging his hand down to clutch at the other’s shirt. his face finds the curve between the younger’s neck and shoulder, pressing tears into his collarbone. “you’re _here_ , how are you here, i’ve-i’ve _missed—_ ” dream stutters, sobs, clinging onto the younger’s back, clinging like he wouldn’t ever let go. “i’ve missed you.” 

“it’s you, it’s _really_ you—” sap tenses in his desperate embrace, but he puts his hands onto dream’s upper back, knits his hands into dream’s hair. as dream cries, sapnap stays unmoving, giving him time to sniffle. 

dream calms down slowly. he rocks back.

“yeah, it’s me.” sap gives a blazing but sad smile. his eyes train on dream’s, unwavering. 

“but you’re dead.”

“i am.” he states, no emotion, a mere fact.

“then how are you here?” dream chases.

his eyelashes flutter prettily as he ramps his head up slightly. “you’re dead too.”

“i’m _what?”_ dream blinks. 

“you’re dead.” sap emphasises empathetically. “you died.”

“i…” dream swallows, looking down, spreading his palms. “i’m dead?” 

a half-smile from sap, a tug of a tanner hand on his wrist. “dying isn’t so bad. i still got to see you and george.”

“how?” dream’s brain is faltering, uncomprehending. 

sapnap bumps his nose unexpectedly with a finger, laughing lightly at the small surprised sound he grates through his throat. “i’m a ghost, idiot, i kind of haunted you and george in that week i was dead. i guess now you’re one, too. now.”

“you…you haunted us—” he stutters, bringing a hand to his head. 

“the dead do that, sometimes. not sure how long i’ll be haunting, though. same with you.”

dream sighs, drops his head.

“i guess, as long as george gets over us.” sap says thoughtfully, like he hadn’t just told dream they were apparitions for the time being.

“george?”

“i was a ghost to help you and george get over me. i guess now you’re dead,” sap overlooks the horizon, “it’s all for george, isn’t it?”

“i can see him again?”

sap belts out a laugh, genuine and heartfelt. “that’s the whole point of my big speech, dream, did you zone out?

“i’m sorry i left you guys too early. i guess all we can do now is to make do with what we do have,” dream glances towards the shorter boy, “and i’m already grateful for that.”


	3. don't push us away

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“here,” he pushes the box into surprised palms. george arches a questioning eyebrow, handles the box like something fragile, like he isn’t a decent woodcrafter._
> 
> _“what’s this for?”_
> 
> _dream rolls his eyes. “it’s a gift, idiot. use your brain.”_
> 
> they haunt george's house. george refuses to acknowledge them at the moment.

dream runs his fingers quickly over the length of the sofa, shudders as they go through the furniture like nothing. he’s still getting used, this strange sensation of being more substantial than nothing, but less than air. he feels nothing physically, not the reliable thump of an alive and beating heart in his chest, not the faint thrum and buzz that perpetually tingled in the tips of his fingers as he worked on measuring precisely and taps on hollow wood planks, always always forgetting to don the working gloves. 

  
the small wooden box that is carved intricately, smooth swirls and clean lines, stands solo on the dining table. it’s the gift he’d shoved to george, shamelessly telling the more reserved man that he appreciated him.

-

  
_“here,” he pushes the box into surprised palms. george arches a questioning eyebrow, handles the box like something fragile, like he isn’t a decent woodcrafter._

  
_“what’s this for?”_

  
_dream rolls his eyes. “it’s a gift, idiot. use your brain.”_

  
_“why?” george asks again. he’s annoying like that, the british accent all the more pronounced. dream doesn’t actually know why he came over here. unlike them, britian actually has a functioning political situation._

  
_“’cause i think you’re neat.” dream declares loudly, much to the disdain of george. “i like you a lot as a best friend.”_

  
_“shut up, why are you so goddamn loud,” george smacks a hand over his face, but dream knows he’s hiding a furious blush._

  
_“you aren’t very good at relationships, aren’t you, gogy?” dream leans, laughing in george’s face as the older sends a scowl his way, face defining disgust, but there is a tinge of pink at the tips of his ears._

  
_“go away. don’t put your ugly face in front of mine like you even deserve attention.” george thrusts dream away with both hands. dream chuckles, pulls on the straps of his hoodie. “whatever you say, georgie.”_

  
_when he leaves george’s house in a half-hour’s time, dream sees the box perched safely on the dining table out of the corner of his eye. he smiles slightly, pausing a little, then pushes himself out of the door._

-

he’s sure george sees them. he’s _sure_. he sees the way the older tenses when sap pulls idly at the knot of his bandana as he hangs precariously from the armrest of the sofa. he sees the way he bites the bottom lip when dream stands just right before him, staring right into each other’s eyes. he hears the soft gasp when sap purposely walks right through his body. 

he _has to_ , right? 

he also finds out he can manipulate solid objects if he concentrates hard enough. 

he knocks over random glasses with plain water. he pushes things so that they roll far away from george, watching as george rubs his eyes tiredly and stumbles for a pencil he’d thrown on the ground. 

  
george doesn’t exactly seem to acknowledge them until a week later.

  
he and sap stand right behind, not a word exchanged. he thinks george is just in a daze as he stands unmovingly. 

  
“why are you both here? you’re not real. you’re both not. why do i keep seeing you two?” george starts.

dream opens his mouth. for once his adhd doesn’t help out with words he can spit out, no matter how useless or longwinded. nothing falls out his mouth. sap doesn’t speak either, but dream knows that his eyes are trained intensely onto the smallest figure in the room. 

“i don’t need the reminders. please go away. i don’t know how to make you go away.” george rambles slightly. dream spots the slight vibrations of george’s body, sees him dip his head forward, still not moving around to look them both in the eyes. 

“we’re real, george.” a side glance from the louder explosive boy beside him. 

“you’re not. you’re not.” george shakes his head, clutching his hair. “you’re both dead. stop talking to me.”

“it’s not in your head.” dream tells the shaking figure softly, unsure how to calm the smaller boy. 

“it is. go away!” george bursts suddenly, whirling around, spitting the words forcefully. dream flinches, but he doesn’t take a step back. 

“we can’t.” sap says, ascending towards george, _“listen to me—”_

  
“no, you listen—” george snarls, taking a couple of steps towards sap, swiping at sapnap, watching his hand drift right through the younger’s midriff. “go _away_. i’m not crazy. why am i seeing you again and again?

  
“am i crazy?” 

  
sap doesn’t back down. dream’s proud. his influence does show in his friend. 

  
“you _aren’t_. georgie, i’m real. dream’s real. we’re not dead, per se, but not quite alive, either.”

  
george narrows his eyes. “you’re lying. get the fuck out of my head.”

  
sap breathes through his nose quite loudly despite not exactly having the need, flashes his eyes open. 

  
“i’m fucking _real_ , georgenotfound, freelance writer, minecraft-enjoying pastime, 24/7 bitch.” sap says quietly. dream feels his hardly suppressed anger, his bursting hidden irritation. 

  
george can’t move, can’t say a word, sapnap backing him up slowly, hooded eyes that flash with irises bright with anger. 

  
“ _you listen to me, georgenotfound, and you listen good_. this isn’t some imaginary little situation your brain comes up with like one of your little stories. we’re here, we’re here to help you, bitch boy, and you’re not at all helping our case, aren’t you? are you?” his voice raises unsuppressed, before he does do so with some difficulty. 

  
george glares at sap, who glares back. the living room is filled with nothing but the sound of george’s breaths. 

  
dream stalks over to the dining table, sweeps a hand, desiring just a moment of solidness, and the box originally sitting on the table tumbles across, teeters off the table, falling onto the ground, and he hears the faintest _crack_ , elevated in the complete silence. 

  
the other two look over. dream stares back. 

  
george walks over to pick it up and place it nicely on the dining table. he leans onto the table with both palms flat on the surface, hangs his head.

  
“you’re really—” 

  
_“yes_ , georgie,” dream stresses tiredly. “that’s what we’ve been trying to tell you for _ages._ ” 

  
“it doesn’t make any goddamn sense—”

  
“honestly i’m not even clear either how this works, so let’s get that one out of the way,” sap butts in.

  
george furrows his eyebrows uncertainly. 

  
“i don’t—”

  
“you always don’t anything, george.”

  
for the first time, george cracks a small smile, his lips unused to the action even when he’d used to do it so easily. it’s beautiful, dream notices. makes him feel a little lighter, a little less anchored to the world.

  
(maybe literally. maybe sap felt it too.)

  
“shut up, snapmap.” the tone is lighter than he’d had heard it for a long time. sap grins.

  
george is improving. he’ll heal. and he and sapnap will be there every step of the recovery process, the crazed searching of the shards of george’s heart, teamwork to scourge for the pieces on the floor. they’ll build him back up, help him back on his feet. push him away from them, so that when they do finally disappear, he wouldn’t shatter again. 

  
he doesn’t think he wants anything better than this, the friendly banter between the other two, the hums that escape sap’s lips, the barely controlled giggles that erupt from george at random intervals, the soft laughter they all call ‘kettle laughter’ rack itself from the depths of his own lungs. 

  
_does it get better?_ it should, he needs it to be, sapnap needs it to be, george needs it to be. he’s sure it will. he’s scared of the future after he disappears from george’s house, but all he wants is to hang around at the moment. bask in the warmth. 

  
it’s as good as anything can be, he tells himself, hiding a smile.

good enough for him. 


End file.
